


Most Ardently (A Pride & Prejudice Retelling)

by adelightfulcalamity



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Elliott Bennett is a snarky shit, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Hate to Love, M/M, Mr Darcy is arrogant but lovable, References to Jane Austen, Servant/Lady romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelightfulcalamity/pseuds/adelightfulcalamity
Summary: An LGBT+ Retelling of Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice, in which the only son of the Bennet family, Elliot Bennet, begins a tumultuous and fascinating relationship with the enigmatic newcomer, Mr William Darcy. Mr Darcy's friend, Charles Bingley is falling head over heels for Jane, but she is too shy to reciprocate his gestures. Alongside these main romances, forbidden feelings bloom between the outcasted and timid Mary Bennet and the gaelic housekeeper's son, Thomas. When the peculiar and awkward family friend of the Bennet's, Mr Collins, arrives, Kitty begins to warm to his odd mannerisms despite his impending engagement to a local woman. Lydia is swept into the arms of the devilishly handsome and charming George Wickham, despite testaments to his bad character.





	1. Chapter One: A New Bachelor at Netherfield Park

Chapter One: A New Bachelor at Netherfield Park.

 

The cold autumn air kissed Elliot's cheeks as he strolled through the fields, a leather bound novel in his hands and his eyes darting across the pages. He mindlessly wandered through the wildflowers towards his family's manor, Longbourn, a humble stone estate surrounded by countryside. He had spent the afternoon in the fields, finding himself a resting place on the hills where he could read in the comfort of nature and bask in the tepid sunlight of Hertfordshire.

Novel in one hand, the other stretched downwards so that his fingertips grazed the top of the foxgloves in the fields, Elliot felt at home. The only son of the Bennett's, he had grown accustomed to perusing any novel he could get his hands on, whilst his four sisters practised needlework, languages and music. Never the kind of boy that would get into the Regiment- his swordsmanship left much to be desired and he would much rather have learnt poetry than strategy- he had grown content with spending his days reading outdoors, or in the parlour whilst his sister Mary played the piano forte and his eldest sister Jane sat beside him embroidering.

Reaching the small moat that separated the fields from the rear courtyard of Longbourn, he stepped across the the wooden walkway and peeled his eyes away from his book just long enough to smile at the gaggle of geese paddling in the water and honking chaotically. His worn, muddy boots squelched against the damp wood as he ascended into the courtyard, where the family servants, a Gaelic woman named Eilidh and her son Thomas were hanging his sisters' skirts out to dry.

"Good Afternoon Eilidh," He greeted the stout woman kindly, who smiled warmly in return.

"Afternoon Mr. Bennett." She answered in her broken, lilted English. She understood instructions nearly perfectly, but still struggled to communicate in English. Her son Thomas was much better at communicating, but he still spoke in the thick, melodic accent of the Scottish Highlands.

"Thomas." Elliott inclined his head in greeting as he passed the servant, Thomas nodding subtly as a means of reply. He was a quiet lad, of the same age as Elliot at twenty years, who pottered around doing the heavy lifting his mother could not handle and cleaning up the spots Eilidh inevitably missed.

Reaching the back door of the house, Elliott paused only briefly to wipe the mud from his boots before entering through the back door. This was a habit of his his mother did not like, for in her opinion the back door was the servants entrance, made for unnoticed coming and going. Elliott liked, however, the ability this door gave him to come and go as he pleased, without his mother complaining or insisting instead that he run errands to town, where he might meet a lovely girl and decide to marry her.

Hearing the sweet sounds of his younger sister on the piano forte, he wandered into the parlour. Two of his sisters lounged there, swathed in their modest house dresses. Mary was at the piano, where she could be found at any given time of the day, stroking the keys and producing melodies that made one feel as though they walked amongst the angels. Her face rested in it's signature concentrated frown, her chestnut hair falling from its braid unkemptly and the freckles on her cheeks dancing in the shadows.

Her petite frame was almost hidden amongst the the dark walls of the room, her dress a simple garment of charcoal grey and trimmed sparsely in white lace. Despite her mother's attempts to introduce colour into her wardrobe, the middle of the Bennett children was stubborn and focused, and could not be persuaded past a dark shade of violet.

By the window on the far side of the parlour, which looked westward and in this late time in the afternoon cast the setting sun's golden glow upon the room, sat Jane. Known for her beauteous looks and uncharacteristic fair hair amongst the other Bennett children, she was as timid as she was splendid to look at. In her hand she held an embroidery hoop, and her delicate, pretty face was peaceful as she stitched. Elliot crossed the room to sit beside her, noting the way the sun illuminated her pale blonde, fine hair.

"Mother has been looking for you today, brother." Jane smiled demurely, looking up Elliott with her large, silver-blue eyes.

"Whatever for?" He asked casually, closing his book and placing it on his lap. Jane did not remove herself from her sewing, instead she smiled to herself as though he had made a private joke.

"She went to Meryton with Lydia and Kitty to buy ribbons for the ball tomorrow." Jane explained in her gentle, glissando voice. Elliot sighed deeply, having forgotten about the ball, which the Lucas family were throwing at their manor house. Elliott enjoyed balls for their dancing and music, but detested the social détente they often presented. He could not stand all the talking of affairs and marriages and children, for they seemed pointless. He would have much rather spent the words on poetry or politics or art. His mother had made it very clear that serious conversation should not be breeched whilst dancing.

As though by some magical power they had heard their own names, Lydia and Kitty came bursting into the room in a flurry of lace and ringlets. Following them, Mrs Bennett rushed in, her face the colour of a beetroot.

"Oh, the most wonderful news children!" She squawked loudly amongst the unending giggles coming from the two youngest Bennett children.

"Oh, it is great news!" Lydia swooned, her eyes wide and filled with excitement.

Lydia, the second youngest child, was a pretentious and vain young woman who spent most of her life desperately socialising with as many men as she could. She was a pretty, elfish-looking girl with full lips that were constantly twisted into a salacious grin and wide blue eyes that she had no problem using to get what she wanted.

"Netherfield Manor has been taken!" Mrs Bennett announced proudly, sweeping across the room to collapse onto an empty chaise lounge. "By a young bachelor nonetheless!"

"His name is Mr. Bingley!" Lydia squealed. Her and the youngest sister, Kitty, sat in a love seat beside Mrs Bennett.

Wherever Lydia was, Kitty could be found lingering in her shadow. She was a petite, impressionable young girl, barely sixteen and prone to simply affirming whatever Lydia said. Where Lydia was surreptitious, however, Kitty had a compassionate empathy towards people that was easily overshadowed by her sister's vanity. The youngest Bennett girl had dark hair and fair skin, with wide eyes the colour of pennies.

"And better yet, he will be attending the ball tomorrow evening!" Mrs Bennett swooned. Elliott noted the way Jane paused her embroidering to consider this fact.

Lydia and Kitty were already planning which ribbons they would match with their skirts, and rushing across the room to Jane, who being the oldest had the finest clothes they could borrow. Jane simply nodded at their requests politely, looking over at Elliott occasionally with an exhausted expression. Elliott silently thanked the Lord that he was not a girl and did not have to deal with Lydia's excessive requests to borrow attire.

Amongst the calamity, Mary barely flinched, her gloomy melodies permeating the chatter. She, like Elliott, was not a great fan of balls. Always the odd one out amongst the ladies, Elliott new that Mrs Bennett feared that in Mary she had produced a spinster child.

The dinner bell interrupted his sisters' flurry, and the room cleared quickly as the smell of Eilidh's cooking wafted in from the dining room. Elliott took his time, setting his novel down on the windowsill before meandering over to the piano forte, where Mary was still playing. The tune was ethereal and moody, Elliott leant against the side of the instrument and watched his sister play. As he did so, she looked up at him and offered him one of her rare, small, smiles.

"Are you not coming to dinner dear sister?" He asked her. Her tune quietened briefly, making space for her quiet, stern voice.

"I think not." She answered plainly. "I have too much to work on with this tune." Elliott nodded in return, noting the way her eyes drifted back to her music sheets. The way she furrowed her brow in concentration was endearing, and was enough to fill his heart with affection for his peculiar younger sister.

He loved Mary dearly, because she was an eccentric and a loner in a way that he understood quite perfectly. Much like he did not conform to the standard of strapping, athletic young men his age, Mary was not one for the decorum, gossip or dancing that occupied young women. She was paid little attention by men and even less attention by other ladies, and spent most parties at the piano or hiding in the corners of the room.

"I shall tell mother," Elliott agreed with a smile. He noted that she was coming to the end of her page, and so amiably turned it for her, which earned him another grateful smile from his sister.

"Thank you, brother."

"You are most welcome, Mary."

With that, Elliott left for the dining room, where he could already hear his mother updating Mr Bennett on the arrival of the new young Bachelor at Netherfield Manor.

____

A/N

So, I'm a huge Pride & Prejudice fan because it's the quintessential romance novel of the regency period, and so I decided that I would write an adaption of it that was LGBT-inclusive. If any of you who are reading this are super familiar with the original version, be prepared for a few changes.

I wanted to add characters, so Thomas is original character, and I also wanted to give all the Bennett children a plot line (So Kitty and Mary will both get more focus than they did in Austen's novel). Also, Mr. Collins, who is the children's cousin in the original, has been changed to be an old family friend.

I hope you enjoy it,

\- Alison


	2. Chapter Two: Warts and a Lear

**_Chapter Two_ **

 

The Bennett family, excluding Mary, sat around the dining room table, which had been piled high with a modest display of boiled potatoes, a roasted foul and garden vegetables. Their cook and housekeeper, Eilidh, had a style of preparing food that was humble but ultimately delicious, and Elliott could not help but start to salivate as he laid eyes on tonight’s meal. 

 

At the head of the table sat Elliot’s father, Mr Bennett; a white-haired, eccentric man with a kind, observant gaze. The elder Mr Bennett, like his son, was perfectly content to shut himself away and pour over books for hours, and often did. However, unlike Elliot, he had come to this habit after years of being an upstanding, regiment-serving gentleman. This earlier athleticism was still evident in his upright and attentive posture, and the was his body had remained lean and sinewed as he had aged.

 

By Mr Bennett’s side, plate already piled with food, sat Elliott’s mother. 

 

Mrs Bennet was a short, stout woman, with rounded eyes constantly flared in anxious panic, and plump cheeks always flushed red with nerves. She had a shrill voice, perpetually raised in complaint about something surrounding her children. Her time was occupied with fretting over the lack of marriage proposals being aimed at her four daughters, or trying to set Elliott up with just about any decorous woman she came across. 

 

Mrs Bennett delicately balanced waxing lyrical about her son and daughters in hopes to convince someone to marry them, and berating them for causing her nervous temperament. Elliott very much struggled to imagine her as a young woman, and struggled even harder to work out what exactly had drawn his father to her. Nevertheless, he loved her in spite of her incessant nagging. 

 

A little late because of his chat with Mary, Elliott stepped into the room in the middle of a conversation in which his mother and youngest sisters where informing Mr Bennett about the arrival of a certain bachelor at Netherfield Park. Mostly, his father looked indifferent to their conversation, which caused a small smile to spread across Elliott’s face.

 

Slipping into his seat at the other end of the table, and dishing himself a large helping of dinner, he listened to his mother talk animatedly about Mr Bingley’s arrival. 

 

“Oh, Mr Bennett, aren’t you pleased? Netherfield Park has been let at last!” She exclaimed. “Do you not wish to know more about this Mr Bingley that has taken it?” 

 

“If you or our girls wish to tell me, my dear, I doubt I shall have any say in the matter.” Mr Bennett smiled at his wife with exasperation. 

 

“I heard Mr Bingley, the new tenant, makes five thousands pounds a year!” Lydia said with a proud smile, no doubt repeating vapid gossip she had heard in town. Her ice blue eyes were filled with something between lust and greed - as though the thought of one excited the other within her. 

 

“Five thousand pounds?” Jane gasped disbelievingly, as though she couldn’t even fathom that amount of money. Wisps of her pale hair had fallen into her face, illuminated by the golden light of the dinner candles. She glanced from Lydia to her brother with wide eyes, as though she expected that he, too, would be shocked. Elliot, however, expected nothing less from any tenant of Netherfield Park. He had passed the estate by foot on many of his leisurely walks, and always took time to admire it’s great blonde-stone facade and neatly manicured gardens. 

 

“And I heard some of the other girls say that he’s awfully handsome… The wealthy ones are always handsome, don’t you think?” Kitty sighed wistfully, resting her chin in her hands. Her dark, doe-like eyes where glistening hopefully. To her, it wasn’t the prospect of a wealthy husband, or a lavish home, that she envied. Kitty, in all her youthful naivety, longed for the dream of a great romance. 

 

“Handsome?” Elliot scoffed sarcastically, breaking his little sister from her youthful reverie. “For five thousand pounds a year, it wouldn’t matter if he had warts and lear!” 

 

His flippancy earned him an inconspicuous giggle from Kitty, affectionate smiles from Jane and his father, a glare from Lydia and a gasp from his mother as she stuffed another boiled potato into her mouth. Once again, Mrs Bennett’s face had turned a vibrant shade of pink, and her round eyes were filled with anxiety. 

 

“Elliot Bennett!” She scolded him once she had managed to hurriedly swallow her mouthful without choking. “How you embarrass me!” 

 

“And you, I, dear mother.” He retorted with a playful smirk. 

 

After dinner, when the pokey, stone-floored kitchen at Longbourn was piled high with dirty serving china and food scraps, Eilidh and Thomas were painstakingly cleaning the dinner dishes. Eilidh stood on a step-stool in front of the sink, her short, plump body too short to reach the basin comfortably without it. The housekeeper was in the habit of singing the Gaelic folk songs she’d grown up hearing whilst cleaning, and at any given moment her songs could be heard drifting through the damp corridors of Longbourn. She had, of course, taught her son the very same tunes as a child, and he occasionally sung them to himself, although never as courageously loud as his mother. 

 

The old clock in the corner of the kitchen struck eight o’clock, and the service bell for the parlour began to echo through the room. This was a routine of the Bennett family that Thomas had grown used to. Each evening, without exception, the Bennetts would retire to the parlour to have their tea whilst one of their daughters played a few songs on the pianoforte. Hearing the bell, Thomas put a kettle of tea on the boil, but as he did his mother’s face twisted in panic.

 

“Thomas!” She exclaimed, elbow-deep in soap suds. “I’ve forgotten the coal-pan in the fire in Miss Mary’s room. Please go upstairs and put it in her bed for me.” 

 

Thomas didn’t waste time in following his mother’s instructions. It was required of them to heat coal pans in the hearths of each bedroom and move them to the beds to warm the sheets before the Bennetts retired to their rooms. He hurried upstairs, the worn floorboards of Longbourn creaking under his tall, strong body. The Bennett children’s chambers diverted from the main hall, and he knew each room as though it were his own.

 

He didn’t have to think much to make his way to Mary’s room, which was the last room on the right. Thomas entered without knocking, expecting that Mary had retired to the parlour for tea with the rest of her family as she always did. 

 

Instead, however, he walked into her room to find that she sat on the petite chaise at the end of her bed. She was wearing a long, white nightgown trimmed with lace, the fabric clinging to her body in a way that alluded to her petite waist and gently curving hips. Her silken, chestnut hair fell in tendrils across her chest, grazing the mounds of her breasts. Thomas scarcely saw her and he had to hold his breath for fear of gasping. 

 

She was magnificent with her hair down, he thought in awe. The luscious curtain of chestnut brown highlighted her slender neck and high, delicate cheekbones in a way that made her look regal and elegant. He felt himself flatten his palms to his thighs to keep himself from touching every inch of her.

 

Mary’s hazel eyes widened at the sight of him, and she stood up from her seat, hugging her arms across her chest in an attempt to preserve her modesty in front of the servant boy. 

 

“I- I am sorry, Miss Bennett,” Thomas stuttered apologetically, taking a step back to recede from the room. He couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet, however, because he was so utterly entranced by the sight of Mary’s faint freckles by candlelight. She was beautiful, and he felt as though he would never see such raw beauty again if he left her now. “My mother told me that the coal pan hadn’t been moved to your bed linens, Miss.” 

 

“It hadn’t,” Mary said assuredly, her eyes filled with quiet confidence. She had always been a quiet girl, but in no way soft-spoken, Thomas thought. Rather, to him she seemed a sharp-witted, stubborn girl. “I moved it myself.” 

 

Thomas had been so enamoured just how lovely she looked with her hair flowing down her back and the firelight reflecting in her eyes, that he didn’t quite follow what she had said. Something about the slight defiant edge to her voice, however, caused him to glance between the empty hearth and the handle of the coal pan protruding from her bedlinen. Eyes widening in concern, he began to speak hurriedly. “Miss, you shouldn’t have-“

 

“I am perfectly capable of moving it myself, Thomas.” Mary insisted firmly, her voice raising slightly, and her cheeks becoming instantly flushed. Her fiery protestation ignited something warm and carnal inside of him, and once again he found himself pressing his palms against his sides. 

 

“I do not mean to be cutting…” Mary added, her voice uncharacteristically filled with uncertainty. Her eyes softened, and seemed to be searching his face for something, which only intensified his desire to close the gap between them. “I simply mean that I assumed it was a mistake, and didn’t want to interrupt you or your mother.” 

 

“It would not have.” Thomas conceded politely, bowing his head slightly to hide that he was blushing under the weight of her beautifully mosaic-like irises. “But thank you, Miss Bennett.” 

 

“You are welcome.” She replied. Her cheeks remained a most irresistible shade of blush. Silence nestled between them, and it suddenly felt as though they were overstepping an invisible line of intimacy by simply looking at each other. This was highly improper, Thomas reminded himself forcefully. He should not even allow himself to think such things about the daughter of his master. He should punish himself for wanting to look at her, speak to her, _touch_ her. 

 

With that in mind, he completed his retreat from the room with a short bow to Mary. 

 

“Goodnight, Miss Bennett.” He bid her goodbye curtly, and left the room in an unsettled hurry, and as he made his way back down the second story hallway, he tried to ignore the longing he felt to hear her say _‘goodnight, Thomas’_ in return. 


	3. The Arrival of Mr Darcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity towards Thomas blooms within Mary, the Bennetts attend the Lucas' ball, and Mr Darcy catches Elliott's attention.

 

**_THE ARRIVAL OF MR DARCY_ **

It was mid morning, and Mary sat at the piano, playing another somber tune. Her mother and sisters had walked to Meryton early that morning to shop for new ribbons for tonight's ball and would not be back for hours. Elliott, as usual, had disappeared into the fields surrounding the Longbourn estate and Mr Bennett was in his upstairs study working. 

This left Mary and her piano in peace, and she relished in the freedom of her fingers upon the keys and a lack of audience. She played openly, concentrating deeply as her hands rose and fell with the crescendo of the music. Glossing over the notes, she broke out into a small smile, executing the chorus near perfectly. Coming down, however, her tempo faltered and she grimaced angrily.

The music came to a still, and she was left frowning down at her hands in frustration. She breathed in deeply, stretching out her long fingers to release a crack from her overworked bones. Mary sighed and closed her eyes, calming her frustration by imagining in her head exactly it should be played. She trailed her fingers on the keys with feather-light touches, imagining the melody as they moved and humming it quietly. 

 The floorboards creaked to her left, and Mary's eyes fluttered open in surprise. Heat rose to her cheeks when she saw Thomas, the family's manservant, standing in the doorway to her left. The boy was only two years Mary's senior, and had been working with his mother for the family for the last four years. 

He was tall, square-jawed young man, broad-shouldered from all work he did around the house and in the stables. His boots were always muddied and his shirts were perpetually wrinkled, his curly mud-coloured hair a constant tangle. Mary noted with confusion that in his hands he carried a small tray, and atop it was a cup and saucer. 

 "Some tea for you, Miss Bennett." Thomas spoke timidly, crossing the threshold of the room and setting the cup and saucer atop the piano with a respectful dip of his head. Mary watched him with curiosity, noting the melodic lilt his accent gave his deep voice. She had not noticed before the previous evening, during their encounter in her bedchambers, that over the last year he had grown much taller, so that he even now towered over her brother and dwarfed her petite frame. She also had not noticed, until his face had been illuminated by firelight, how enchanting his chestnut coloured eyes actually were. 

 "I did not call for tea." She explained simply, her hazel eyes wide with both embarrassment and surprise. Thomas flushed, his pale cheeks turning the soft pink of a winter rose. 

 "I know, Miss Bennett. I- I just thought that you might like some after all your playing, m'am." He gushed, a few stray curls of his mousey hair falling across his forehead. He pushed them back quickly, revealing the dirt caked beneath his fingernails and the callouses on his palms. Mary was perplexed by his gesture - he had not once in his time at Longbourn spontaneously brought her a cup of tea - but she nodded gratefully in reply nonetheless. 

 "That was... very thoughtful of you. Thank you." She replied stiffly. Thomas blushed once more and opened his mouth to say something, but Elliott waltzing into the room interrupted him. As usual, her brother carried a leather bound novel in his hand and a look of contemplation on his face. 

 "Unlike you to take a break for a cup of tea Mary." Elliott remarked innocently, noting the steaming cup on the piano forte. Unable to control herself, Mary blushed and tucked a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear. She was grateful for her brother’s interruption, because she was slightly afraid without it she might have embarrassed herself in front of Thomas. At the same time, however, she was frustrated, because in a quiet, confusing way, she wanted a few more seconds alone with the servant boy. 

 "Would you like some, Master Bennett?" Thomas asked obligatorily. Elliott paused for a second, regarding his sister. 

 "Yes please Thomas." He decided, and Thomas left the room. Mary stood from her piano stool and swept her mug into her hands. She sat beside her brother, whose hair was tousled messily from the autumn wind. 

 Mary and Elliot were the most similar in looks amongst the Bennett children: with their milky complexions, freckles, narrow noses and chestnut hair. Elliott was handsome in a boyish way, with his slender frame and narrow waist, and Mary had inherited this boyishness. She was a pretty girl, it had been said on occasion, but it was Jane, Lydia and Kitty that left the men in town breathless with their dazzling smiles and Venusian good looks. Mary had long time ago accepted that the same features that made her brother charming and handsome, made her decidedly plain. 

 "Are you looking forward to this evening's ball, sister?” Elliott asked her, eyes glinting mischievously as her face reddened. He knew Mary well enough to conclude the answer. 

 "Hardly." She answered sardonically, sipping at her tea. The brew was herbal and hearty, a blend that Eilidh and Thomas created themselves from the herb garden next to the stables. 

 "Mother is insistent that Mr Bingley, shall be there. I suppose she is hopeful that he will find a wife amongst our sisters. Perhaps he shall pick you, Mary?" He explained amusedly. Mary laughed quietly at her brother's cheek in mocking their mother. Mrs Bennett was obsessed with finding her daughters husbands, as Longbourn estate would legally only be left to Elliott and whomever he chose to marry. Of course, Elliott would let any of his sisters stay on with him if they so chose - excluding, perhaps, Lydia - but his mother was terrified he would die suddenly and leave them all spinsters. 

 Mary could only imagine a man called Mr Bingley, who must have been very wealthy to acquire Netherfield Park. But, in her limited experience, rich young men were impetuous and self-centred and rarely made time for music or their wives. 

 Thomas came back into the room with another little tray and tea cup and set them down on the table beside Elliott. 

 "I should hope not, unless by some miracle I find him instantly infatuating." Mary insisted as Elliott reached forward and took the teacup, giving Thomas an appreciative nod. 

 "A trait I admire in you sister - thank you Thomas.”

 “As for myself,” Elliott continued. “I would sooner marry Thomas than give mother the satisfaction of picking my bride." He jested. Thomas chuckled politely, although he looked embarrassed. Mary felt her cheeks become aflame at the deep, warm sound. At the sight of Mary’s flushed cheeks, Thomas suddenly acted as though he had something urgent to attend to, and left the room quickly. Elliott seemed not to notice this, instead taking another long sip of his tea. 

 "Elliot, do not say such things. I can only imagine her face if she thought you were sinful in that manner." Mary scolded him. 

 "Sinful? I disagree. The ancient greeks advocated homosexual encounters, and they are the basis for the modern philosophies and arts.” He retorted intellectually. 

 "We may value art and philosophy, brother, but the Church is far more important in England. And the church calls it buggery.” Mary raised her eyebrows at him in warning. She knew that Elliott loved nothing more than to shock and tease whomever he could, but she had always feared his flippant and at times indecorous sense of humour might get him into trouble. 

 "Why, mother would have your mouth washed out with soap if she heard your language, little sister." Elliot teased, his eyes softening affectionately at his sister. "If only she knew how your shy nature dissipated around your dear brother."

 Mary smiled, her eyes filled with mischief. “It never dissipates, brother, I have simply mastered the art of tact.” 

 

The sun was setting over Longbourn, and Elliot and his father waited patiently by the carriage for his mother and sisters. The evening’s ball was to be hosted by Sir William Lucas, who occupied with his family an estate not far from Meryton. 

 The evening air crisp, Elliot found himself hugging his dress-coat to his body in an effort to stay warm. His coat was heather grey, highlighting his pale skin, and his waistcoat a sage green tweed that had been passed down from his father. His boots were warn but polished, and his hair flopping forward in its usual dishevelled fashion. The status of Longburn as a struggling, modest estate, showed clearly in the dressing of its inhabitants. 

 After what felt like hours, his sisters finally emerged from the house, preened and ready to spend the night dancing. The two youngest, wore inverted dressed of cornflower blue and cream: Lydia in a blue dress with cream lace and Kitty in a cream dress with blue lace. Mary wore the darkest of greens, and Jane looked regal and doll-like in blush lace. He did not even have time to compliment his sisters, because his mother was rushing them into their carriage, and before Elliot knew it they were in the midst of a crowd of people dancing, drinking, and indulging in an assortment of pastries and puddings. 

 He found himself standing at the edge of the room, glass of port in hand, talking to Jane and Charlotte Lucas, the eldest daughter of their host and one of his dearest friends. Charlotte was older than most unmarried girls, at twenty six, and thus had developed good humour and a taste for having as much fun as she possibly could. She had the wide hips and dark hair indicative of the Lucas women, paired with a large nose and round, cocoa-brown eyes. She reminded Elliott very much of a Russian nesting doll. It was a bizarre comparison, but her short stature mixed with her large bosom and hips, which caused her skirts to cascade outwards brought Elliott visions of all the miniature Charlotte Lucas’ she could fit beneath her petticoats. 

Tonight was no exception: Elliott had spotted Charlotte immediately upon entering the ballroom: jovially passing from guest to guest, an illuminating smile spread across her face. She was not the prettiest, nor the most desired woman in the room. She was, however, the kind of person who positively glowed. It was impossible to ignore the way her her smile changed her face, and painted her in the image of an incandescent cherubim.

 At that very moment, Charlotte was occupied with tying a loose ribbon in her youngest sister’s hair.

 Elliott looked the other way, at his eldest sister, her porcelain skin pale against the blush coloured lace of her ballgown. Jane was the picture of elegance this evening, and had unknowingly captured the attention of every bachelor in the room the minute she had made her way through the hall. Elliott had watched on - with a bizarre mixture of protective disdain and pride - as the bachelors had followed her slender, gliding frame with their eyes.

 “If by the end of the evening, every man in the room is not in love with you, sister, then I am no judge of beauty.” He smiled at Jane, lifting his glass of port in adoration. She blushed fiercely and let out an embarrassed laugh. His sister had a habit of meeting flattery with rouged cheeks and averted, silver-blue eyes. 

 “Or men, my dear brother.” She remarked coyly. Elliott, who often forget his sister’s quiet, unassuming sense of humour, let out an amused chuckle. 

 “No, men are far too easy to judge, Jane.” He retorted, scanning the room. All the men were either drinking, stuffing their faces with food, or conspicuously contemplating which women they were going to ask to dance. He supposed that he was no exception - his partner for the evening would be the glass of dark port in his hand. “I would know, I am one.” 

 “They are not all bad.” She insisted, eyes wondering the room as though trying to find one such man. Elliott suspected that she did not see the gluttony, debauchery or desperation that he did. 

 “Humourless poppycock, in my experience. Then again, I believe that of most people.” Elliot retorted. Jane looked equally shocked and amused at his response. Elliot had always been particularly pessimistic on the nature of humanity, and was often proved correct by the antics of the people in their county. 

 “One of these days Elliott, someone will catch your eye, and then you’ll have to watch your tongue.” Jane warned him, her voice serious and filled with older-sibling wisdom. He suddenly felt as though he was being scolded, and so he prevented himself from ruminating on his fellow man any further by taking a long sip of his port. 

 Charlotte had shooed away her little sister now, and turned to Elliott with a smile.  


“Will you be asking any ladies to dance, Elliot?” She asked. The eldest Lucas girl was clad in a pale, duck-egg blue gown cut to accentuate her generous curves. Her cheeks were rouged (perhaps excessively, but it was hard to tell because her cheeks were always flushed from laughter) and her raven-coloured hair was pinned up in a twist of soft ringlets. 

 “That is not the question, my lovely Charlotte, rather you should ask whether any lady in the room will be willing to dance with some as heavy-footed as myself.” He replied mischievously. In truth, he milady enjoyed dancing, although he never found it to be quite as intimate or magical as his sisters described it. No lady had made his heart flutter or his cheeks redden the same way young men made his sisters’. 

 “Oh! But you are a such a good dancer.” Charlotte exclaimed in response, placing her hand on her hips in playful defiance. Beside him, Jane was eyeing the interaction between them with an observant smile on her face. 

 “Only when you are my partner, dear friend.” Elliott smiled back at Miss Lucas, taking her small hands in his and planting a platonic kiss atop them.Charlotte, cheeks only slightly pinker than usual, laughter heartily. The sound carried loudly through the hall as the rest of the dancers and ball-goers fell suddenly silent. 

 It was bizarre, and as Elliott looked around the ballroom in curiosity, and his eyes settled on the trio of newcomers at the entrance of the room, he concluded that his company must have been in awe. There was no doubt in his mind that these newcomers where from grander parts of England: the red-headed woman’s golden dress was in the latest fashion and was fitted to her slender form perfectly; and the gentleman wore dress coats exquisitely tailored to their forms. He hardly had time to register them that they began to wall through the ballroom through the trench of open floor that the other guests had cleared. 

 As they walked, only one figure entranced Elliott in such a way that he was rendered temporarily speechless. To the right of the party now passing them, an unbelievably tall, broad-shouldered gentleman walked with stoic grace. He was at least a head taller than Elliot himself, and his hair was so impossibly dark it reminded him of pure obsidian. More striking than that silken mop of blackness - which, peculiarly, Elliott wished to touch - were his pair of blue-grey eyes, which were the distinct, tumultuous colour of the sea during a storm, and reflected perfectly the brooding expression on his face. 

 “So which of our painted peacocks is our Mr Bingley, then?” Elliott found himself whispering to Charlotte, eyes still glued to the tall man. 

 “The gentleman in the middle,” She explained. Elliott forced his eyes onto the smaller man in the middle. Mr Bingley was a compact, lean young man, with copper-coloured hair and a youthful glint to his green eyes. His face was square and boyish, punctuated by rosy cheeks and a small, timid smile. “and the lady is his sister, Lady Caroline Bingley.”

 Where Mr Bingley was youthful and cheery-looking, his sister Caroline’s half-lidded eyes and full lips made her look the part of the seductress. Her green eyes seemed to scan the room disdainfully, as though she would rather be anywhere than here, in a ballroom in Hertfordshire. Elliott just had to look at her to know that she was used to far grander occasions than this one. 

 As though they were magnetised, Elliotts eyes returned the enigmatic figure on the other side of Mr Bingley. On second look, Elliot noticed the strength he carried in his broad shoulders, hidden beneath the lush velvet of his midnight blue dress coat. 

 “And the person with the quizzical brow?” Elliot asked Charlotte again, unable to help himself. Something inside of him had to know the name of this man. He couldn’t explain it, because by all accounts he looked absolutely miserable and utterly dissatisfied by the crowd before him. 

 “That would be his good friend Mr Darcy.” Charlotte sighed wistfully. “And just as handsome, isn’t he?” 

  _Handsome?_ Did Elliot think he was handsome? _Surely not_. But indeed, his eyes did seem to wonder the man’s face involuntarily, and he did want to get a closer look at those tempestuously grey eyes. 

 “He looks miserable, poor soul!” Elliott countered, perhaps slightly defensively. 

 “Miserable he may be, but poor he most certainly is not.” Charlotte retorted back, chuckling under her breath. 

 “Do tell?” Elliott urged her, desperate to know more. 

 “Ten thousand pounds a year, and he owns half of Darbyshire.” 

 “The miserable half?” Elliott teased, finding his feet again after being knocked afoot by Mr Darcy’s arrival and the knowledge that the man was certainly one of the richest in the country. For his flippant humour he earned a hearty laugh from Charlotte and an elbow in the ribs from Jane, who had clearly heard their conversation. 

 The trio had made to their position on the other end of the dance floor now, and the dancing mercifully began to play once more, just in time for Charlotte and Elliott to starting laughing at Jane’s warning jab. 

But even as he laughed, Elliot could not shake the unnerved feeling that had been ignited within him by Mr Darcy’s arrival in Hertfordshire. 


End file.
